


you've begun to feel like home

by grimeslincoln



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeslincoln/pseuds/grimeslincoln
Summary: “When I-” Ben sucks in a breath, suddenly feeling more exposed than he did getting undressed. “When I saw you just...lying there, I thought I’d lost you. I thought I was too late.”Callum lifts his head off of Ben’s belly and leans back, putting some space between them so that he can look up and see his face. The vulnerability he finds written across Ben’s expression is something that still takes him back whenever he sees it, so rare and private that he almost feels honoured to witness it, to be allowed to see a part of him that so few others ever did.“You weren’t though. You saved me, Ben.” He runs his hands up the dip of the other man’s spine. Ben sighs at the touch, his fingers tightening in the hair at the crown of Callum’s head. “I knew you would.”or, an alternate take on Callum's rescue and the aftermath.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 132





	you've begun to feel like home

The flat is quiet, eerily so, when Ben nudges open the front door with his shoulder to be greeted by stillness, the only sound his keys clattering in to the bowl. The silence is almost unnerving, sets his teeth on edge, after hours of wailing sirens and grief-stricken cries and gunshots reverberating in his eardrums. He thinks, maybe, he’d have preferred to return to the smoke alarm ringing or sound blaring from the television, if only to match the chaos currently swirling around in his head.

Callum is leaning limp and heavy against his side, head dropped forward on his neck and shoulders hunched, as though even just holding himself upright is too exhausting a task. He’d been like that the entire cab journey back from the hospital, head settled in the warm crook of Ben’s neck in the backseat, the feel of Ben’s fingers carding through his hair almost lulling him to sleep, only staying conscious out of pure stubbornness.

His fractured right arm is held close to his chest, covered in a cast that’s already beginning to itch, and there’s a limp in his step thanks to a sprained ankle, but other than those immediate injuries, a couple of broken ribs and a mild concussion, there had been nothing too concerning that the hospital had deemed it necessary to keep him in overnight, much to Callum’s relief. After days on end of being chained and shackled, sleeping in sporadic bursts on an unforgiving warehouse floor, there was nothing he wanted more than to spend a night in his own bed, with Ben beside him.

With only minor difficulty, Ben manages to manoeuvre the two of them, a joined tangle of unsteady limbs, through the entranceway and into the front room, a litany of “steady, steady” falling from his lips. It’s a slow process; he successfully knocks over half the contents on the coffee table and his boots are treading a mixture of grimy Thames water and mud in to the carpet, leaving dark prints in the material, but they get there.

The place only looks marginally different from the last time Ben was there, some files from the funeral parlour having appeared on the counter and a couple of dishes are piled on the draining board, either by Stuart or Rainie. If Ben didn’t have more pressing concerns on his mind, he would be mildly surprised either of them have the house training to do their own washing up. The sun is yet to set over Walford, the clock on the wall reading 5.54am, and as such the apartment is bathed in murky grey.

Keeping one firm arm around Callum’s torso, he leans over to switch on the lamp, dim orange light chasing away the shadows.

Callum’s red tie is still draped over the arm of the sofa where Ben had left it, and the sight of it makes his throat constrict, all the emotions that he’d been flooded with when Keanu first threw it at him resurfacing; anger, dread, fear. Fear like he’d never known, except once before, and never wanted to know again. He doesn’t want to think about what might have happened if his dad had been successful in killing Keanu before he’d arrived to get Callum’s location, _can’t_ think about it.

He’s snapped out of that train of thought when Callum droops slightly at his side.

“We’re home,” Ben keeps his voice low, gently nudging Callum, who stirs at the noise and lifts his head as much as he can muster, so his face is mere inches away from Ben’s, so close that he can feel his boyfriend’s warm breath on his face. In the restricted light, he’s able to see the full extent of Callum’s injuries more clearly; his left eye is starting to swell shut, the puffy skin already mottled shades of mauve and sickly yellow, darker in the crease of the socket, and there are red, angry grazes decorating the high point of his cheekbone, courtesy of Keanu’s fists. Yet, somehow, despite his wounds, Callum’s gaze still manages to radiate such adoration that it makes Ben’s chest tighten from the force of it.

“You want anythin’? A cuppa? I can make ya somethin’ to eat?” Ben tightens his arms around Callum’s middle, drawing him nearer. He tells himself it’s just because if he relaxes his hold then Callum will surely slump straight to the floor; it has nothing to do with way his breathing comes a little bit easier when the other man is pulled flush against him, or the warm feeling of security that settles in his body whenever Callum is close, like a boat being anchored during a storm.

Callum shakes his head, the movement slow and strained. “Jus’ wanna get outta these clothes.”

“Steady on tiger,” Ben’s eyes glint with a mischief that Callum had found himself craving the sight of whilst he’d been gone, the thought of never seeing it again almost too much to bear. “Doctor said no strenuous activity for a couple weeks, remember? I know I’m irresistible but we don’t want you pulling anything else now, do we?”

“Twat,” Callum huffs under his breath, but his tone is light and affectionate, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his split lip. Ben has to strain to hear him over the dull silence in his left ear.

“You love me though,” Ben means it to be teasing, but it comes out more like a question, raw and almost uncertain, tendrils of doubt creeping into his voice. Callum’s expression shifts into something soft and pitiful.

Suddenly, the doubt that has been bubbling beneath the surface, ever since Ben found him at the bottom of that pit, rises to the surface: what if Callum hates him for this? He doesn’t think he could hold it against him even if he did; he certainly hates himself enough for the both of them.

It’s silent for a beat, the air between them feeling thicker than before, as Callum searches Ben’s face for any hint of what he’s really feeling, for the vulnerability beneath the front. Even after all this time, and everything they’ve been through, he still struggles to read him sometimes, to know what Ben’s truly feeling and not just what he wants people to _think_ he’s feeling. It’s only in the little ticks Callum’s learnt to analyse, the way he scratches nervously at his eyebrow, how his voice falters at the edges, that he’s started to be able to understand what Ben is really trying to say, or ask, beneath the quips and the jokes and the insults.

Ben wants to wilt under his stare, to batten down the hatches and wipe any traces of emotion off his own face, and usually he would, if it was anyone else, but after the events of the last few days, after nearly losing the most important thing in his life, he can’t bring himself to hide anything from Callum. And so, he returns Callum’s gaze, letting all the anxiety and fear and emotion he’s feeling show, presenting it for the other man to see.

That seems to make up Callum’s mind on how to answer, because he lifts a cold hand to Ben’s cheek, thumb grazing gently over the stubble at his jaw, and tells him, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And, _God_ , if that doesn’t just make Ben want to give everything to him, to open the floodgates and tell him everything he feels, all the ways in which he needs him, wants him, loves him. Because he does, he’s realised, over the last few days. Being presented with the very real possibility of losing Callum, it’s made him realise just how much he can’t possibly live without him.

He’d already had an inkling of how much the other man meant to him, he wasn’t an idiot; he’d been in love before and he knew what it felt like, the constant craving to be around someone, the willingness to put them before himself, the happiness. But this was different. With Paul, everything had been gentle and exciting and so, so new to him, but this, what he had with Callum, it was like an instinct, a complete loss of self-preservation he’d never experienced before. He’d been ready to put a bullet in his father’s back, his own flesh and blood, if it had meant saving Callum, and that thought, the idea that there was no lengths he wouldn’t go to for fear of losing him, it terrifies Ben.

But saying all of that seems too heavy for the moment, when Callum’s shirt is still stained with dried blood and he’s staggering on his feet, so Ben takes the hand that is cupping his cheek in to his own and guides it so it is hovering over his lips, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of his palm. Callum’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation, and Ben thinks maybe the gesture alone is enough.

“Right, let’s get you cleaned up before you start keeling over,” Ben’s voice cracks around some of the words, throat still sensitive from swallowing who knows how much contaminated river water.

With one hand clasping Callum’s larger one between their bodies and the other keeping a firm hold on the other man’s midriff, Ben staggers towards the bathroom, guiding Callum alongside him.

Callum winces slightly as they move, face screwing up in discomfort whenever he puts too much weight on his injured ankle, but doesn’t put up any protest. Once they make it to the bathroom in one piece, Ben toes the door shut behind them whilst Callum wriggles out of his grasp and props himself up against the sink, letting out a sigh of relief as the porcelain basin takes the majority of his weight.

Ben kicks off his boots, which are still soaked through, a puddle of water collecting on the floor around them, leaving his soggy, socked feet cold against the tiles.

“I smell like a sewer,” he complains, gesturing down at his clothes. After Keanu had begrudgingly revealed Callum’s location, thanks to a little persuasion from a gun pressed to his temple, he’d tried his luck and sent a few good swings Ben’s way, before sending the both of them toppling overboard, into the murky tides below.

Afterwards, in the chaos of lifeboats and stretchers and foil blankets, Ben hadn’t waited around to bare witness to the consequences of the crash, didn’t even wait to see if his dad made it off alive, instead legging it, sopping wet, half-deaf and disoriented, to the address Callum was supposedly being kept at.

He’d almost thrown up the limited contents of his stomach when he’d uncovered the corner of the building he suspected Callum had been held; a pile of chains and torn rope and splatters of blood staining the concrete but no sign of his boyfriend. He’d found him eventually, after God knows how long of searching, screaming his name until his voice wouldn’t come anymore, scouring every dark crevice, growing more desperate and more hopeless with every passing second.

When he’d finally discovered him, lying limp and broke at the bottom of that pit, there’d been a moment, a split second where it felt like the floor dropped out from beneath him and all the air was vacuumed out of his lungs, and he’d thought Callum was dead. Suddenly, he was back four years in the past, having his whole world ripped away from him right in front of his eyes, again.

And then, Callum had moved. It was almost imperceptible, just his finger twitching amongst the heaps of rubbish piled around him, but Ben had seen it. From then on it had been a frantic flurry of paramedics and the smell of disinfected hospital corridors and IV drips, until they’d finally been allowed to come home.

“Ben?” Callum’s voice grabs his attention, and when he looks up, he finds that the other man has perched himself on the closed toilet seat and is watching him expectantly.

“Huh?” Ben rubs at his ear, can feel remnants of water clogged in there.

“I asked how ya ear was, but I think you jus’ answered that for me.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ben blinks. “Think the waters knackered me hearing aid. I’ll have to sort a new one out.”

He fishes the device out of his ear and drops it on to the side of the sink before beginning to unbutton his coat, the woolen fabric soggy beneath his hands. He discards it over the edge of the bath and then pulls his equally soaked shirt over his head, wincing as his ribs protest the movement. Unfortunately, the couple of punches Keanu managed to land had been good ones, leaving him with a smattering of developing bruises up his side. The doctor had given him a once over at the hospital, while they’d been waiting on Callum’s scan results, but had determined that nothing was broken or fractured, just sore.

Ben is half undressed, still clothed from the waist downwards, when Callum begins trying to wriggle out of his suit, with great difficulty. Ben watches for a moment, amused, as Callum struggles to shrug off his blazer with only one working arm, the elbow that isn’t broken getting caught in the sleeve. When he realises he’s stuck, he looks to boyfriend defeatedly, lips pressed into a downturned pout, causing an endeared giggle to erupt from Ben.

“C’mere, let me help ya.” He crosses the room to stand in front of Callum and slides the jacket off of his shoulders, grateful the other man is sitting down so he doesn’t have to stretch any more, and lets it drop to the floor. His fingers move to undo the buttons on Callum’s shirt, one by one, but when it’s fully open, revealing pale chest and a soft belly, larger hands capture his own and stop him from pushing it off.

“Leave it, s’cold.”

He does as he’s told, instead moving the fabric aside so that he can properly inspect the state of Callum’s own ribs. Externally, they don’t appear too bad, just some mild bruising from where Keanu had delivered a few swift kicks to them, but he suspects they hurt worse than they look judging by the way Callum keeps cringing every time he moves.

He glides his hands up Callum’s arms and over the smooth expanse of his chest until they are cupping his face, soft and gentle. Callum allows the exploration, seemingly soothed by the touch.

There is dark, almost-black blood crusted into the bristles of hair above Callum’s cupids bow and in the crease of his chin, beginning to flake. Every now and then he’ll reach up to scratch at the hair on his jaw or at the peeling blood around his nose, irritated by his scruffy state.

“Ain’t never seen you so grizzly.” Ben runs the pad of his thumb over the beginning of Callum’s beard. Days on end of being kidnapped have left him looking unusually dishevelled, sporting unkempt hair and overgrown stubble. “I reckon the hairy lumberjack look suits ya.”

Callum’s face scrunches in disagreement.

“I can’t stand it.” He itches at the hair on his neck for emphasis.

“You want me to get rid of it for ya?” Ben moves a loose strand of hair out of Callum’s eyes but it just bounces back into place. “You ain’t going to sleep if it’s irritating you all night.”

Callum’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, as he contemplates the offer. Despite his desperation to climb into bed and sleep for a week, he knows Ben has a point.

“Alright.”

Ben smiles, glad to be of some use after spending the last three days feeling utterly helpless, and drops a chaste kiss to the top of Callum’s head. He takes a moment to breath in the familiar scent of him, cheap shampoo from the Minute Mart and the flowery air freshener Rainie insists on flooding the flat with, tinged with lingering hints of hospital disinfectant, before moving out of Callum’s orbit and busying himself with rifling through the cabinet.

What with the main occupants of the flat being two adult men who could barely look after a plant, let alone theirselves, and Rainie (who was an entirely different nightmare), the bathroom looks like a complete bombsite, lacking any logical organisation, and so it takes Ben a while to find what he’s looking for.

Eventually he manages to dig a fresh razor, shaving cream and a semi-clean flannel out from behind three half empty tubs of hair wax that clearly don’t belong to Stuart. He plugs the sink and starts letting it fill up before positioning himself so he is standing between Callum’s legs, caged by his thighs.

Callum’s head has begun to droop tiredly and Ben taps the underside of his chin to get him to lift it. He complies easily, glancing up at Ben through half-lidded eyes.

“Your gorilla of a brother gonna be barging in any time soon?” He wets the flannel and brings it to Callum’s face, beginning to wipe away the remnants of blood. The fabric drags over his split lip and guilt flares hot in Ben’s chest when the other man hisses through his teeth.

Callum shakes his head. “He texted earlier, said him and Rainie are still with Bex, won’t be home for a couple hours yet.”

“Good, ‘cause I plan on sleeping for a week and the last thing I wanna be disturbed by is them two going at it like a pair of randy teenagers.” Callum’s face screws up in disgust, having enough first hand experience with the sound of Stuart and his girlfriend’s antics to know exactly what Ben is talking about. “If I have to hear Rainie call your brother her big daddy bear one more time I’ll wish I went down with that boat.”

Ben chuckles at his own joke, before his face drops when he realises the implications of his words. _Dennis._

Kathy had left Ian’s side to come and find them when they’d been sitting around waiting at the hospital. Her face had been a picture when she’d seen them; Ben soaked through to the bone, a puddle of water at his feet and clutching his ear in pain, and Callum slumped half-asleep against him, rope burn circling his wrists and face a canvas of injuries.

She’d filled them in on what had happened, tears in her eyes and one of Ben’s hands clasped in her shaking ones, his other hand locked with Callum’s, as she told him Dennis hadn’t made it off of the boat. The two of them had awaited Ben’s reaction, for tears or denial or a fit of fiery anger, but instead he’d remained stone faced and accepting of the news, carrying on as if nothing had changed.

Callum had seen him do this countless times before; bottling up his feelings and internalising them, refusing to show any signs of what he deemed to be weakness, albeit on a smaller scale and over less upsetting situations. He knew Ben would let it all out eventually, once it built up inside and spilled out, unable to be contained anymore. Callum just had to wait and make sure he was there for him when that happened.

“You’re allowed to be sad, you know?” Callum lifts his good arm and settles his hand over Ben’s hip, using it as leverage to pull him a couple of inches closer. Ben doesn’t move his gaze away from where he’s dabbing diligently at the blood on Callum’s face, scared that if he looks into his boyfriend’s sympathetic eyes he’ll break. “He was ya brother.”

Ben scoffs.

“Some brother I am, I barely even saw ‘im after Dad left for Portugal, just left him to look after himself.” Ben’s voice cracks on the last word, and Callum can feel his hand trembling where it’s wiping at his cheek but he doesn’t mention it. “I didn’t even know he was on board. Soon as Keanu told me where you was I legged it, I-I just _left_ him. If I’d have been there, if I’d have known, I could’ve helped him, maybe he wouldn’t-”

Ben breaks off, choked with emotion. There are tears pooling in the corners of his eyes but he refuses to let them spill over, blinking them away. Callum squeezes his hip, hoping it comes off as comforting.

“But you didn’t know. You couldn’t have. Hey, look at me.” Ben ignores him at first, chin jutted out stubbornly, before he finally caves and meets Callum’s eye. His lip trembles with emotion, but other than that he doesn’t allow any sign of grief to show on his face. “There was no way you could’ve saved him, same as Ian.”

He’s still as he considers Callum’s words, before he eventually nods in acknowledgment and carries on tending to the cuts.

“Almost had to deliver Sharon’s baby earlier.”

“You what?” Callum splutters, taken aback by the unexpected statement.

Ben’s smirking now, successfully having distracted himself from his emotions. Callum’s staring at him in confusion, awaiting an answer, and he relishes in keeping him hanging.

“When we was waiting for Keanu, she started pushing it out. Thought I was gonna have to pull the sprog out myself.”

“I don’t think that’s _quite_ how it works.”

He lets out a bark of laughter that echoes throughout the quiet bathroom, playfully flicking Callum’s ear. “You know what I mean. Talk about the worst person to be navigating their way around Sharon’s bits and pieces.” Ben shivers in disgust at the thought.

“Now that, I would pay to see.” Callum’s face is alight with amusement, dimples carved into his cheeks and eyes crinkled at the corners. Seeing him sat there, still so bright and and alive after the ordeal he’d been through and all the pain he was currently in, makes Ben’s chest constrict with a level of affection he’s only ever felt for a handful of people.

Ben squirts a heap of shaving cream on to his hand and lathers it over Callum’s beard, before swirling the razor around in the pool of lukewarm water. He taps it against the rim of the sink to shake off any excess, before bringing the blade so it is pressed against Callum’s jaw. He takes the other man’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head back so he’s looking up at him through hooded eyes. The white artificial light from the overhead fixture hits the angles of Callum’s faces, illuminating the blue of his eyes and causing his eyelashes to cast soft shadows against the skin under his brow bone.

With one hand keeping Callum’s face steady and the other holding the razor, Ben begins to glide the blade against the grain, over the expanse of Callum’s stubble. The only sound is the damp scraping of metal against hair and the shallow exhales of their breathing. Callum keeps his gaze fixated on Ben, observing the focus on his boyfriend’s face as he works; the way his tongue will poke out between his lips in deep concentration every time he reaches a curve, or how the delicate freckled skin between his brows will crease every time he discovered a new, mottled bruise marring Callum’s pale skin.

Every now and then, Ben’s eyes will lift to meet Callum’s, and a tender expression will transform his features, an affectionate smile pulling at his lips, whenever he catches him staring.

Callum keeps his hand cupping Ben’s bare hip, calloused fingertips pressing in to the soft, cushioned skin there, partly to keep himself steady and partly for the comfort of feeling the other man beneath his skin, warm and familiar and everything he had been yearning to feel over the last three days. He can feel Ben leaning in to the touch, pressing himself in to the contact and allowing his body to mould into the cup of Callum’s palm.

Eventually the blade reaches the underside of Callum’s throat, and his breath hitches nervously at the sensation. Ben pulls his hand away for a moment, rinsing the razor in the sink. He looks down at Callum, stroking the pad of his thumb over the now smooth plain of his cheek.

“I’m sure there’s a joke that starts with letting a convicted murderer near your throat with a sharp object,” he quips, lips twisting in a playful grimace.

“Manslaughterer, actually,” Callum corrects him, huffing out a laugh at the shocked expression on Ben’s face.

“Do near death experiences turn you into a smartarse or somethin’?”

“Just saying. That would explain a lot about you, though,” he mutters the last bit.

“Mr. Highway!” he feigns offence, but there’s a glint in his eye that tells Callum he’s enjoying this, the joking, the normalcy, likely a welcome and necessary distraction from the events of the last few days.

“Come on then, get on with it.” He knocks his knee against Ben’s shin, prompting him to continue.

“Yes, officer!” Ben mimics standing to attention, relishing the smile it draws from Callum, before shifting his grip to the back of the other man’s neck, rubbing small circles into the patch of skin behind his ear, and getting back to work.

The razor glides over the prominent bulb of Callum’s jugular and Ben can feel how he has stilled, frozen, beneath his hold, the only movement being the steady thump of his pulse point beneath Ben’s finger. Callum continues to watch him, sleepier now than he was, eyelids beginning to be weighed down by heaviness, head only kept upright on his neck by Ben’s support.

Eventually Ben is finished, wiping away the last droplets of water that have trickled down to the base of Callum’s throat. He leans over to drain the basin and throw the razor in the bin, before turning back to Callum, who tightens his thighs around his legs, causing him to stumble closer so that Callum can wrap both arms comfortably around his waist, trapping him in place, and rest his head against his stomach, sodden cheek sticking against Ben’s belly.

Ben sinks his fingers into Callum’s hair, making sure to scratch at the closely cropped strands at the back of his head like he knows the other man likes. Some of the tension leaks out of Callum’s posture as he allows himself to relax and he lets out a contented hum at the sensation, nosing further into Ben, who can feel the way his lashes have fluttered closed against his skin.

Without the layer of facial hair to shield them, Callum's wounds are more prominent against his otherwise pasty skin. Rage blossoms in the hollow of Ben’s ribcage at the sight of them, blotched and sore. The thought of Keanu inflicting them on good, _innocent_ Callum, whilst he was chained up and defenceless, makes a feeling so innately protective, almost primal, flare inside Ben that it frightens him.

“When I-” Ben sucks in a breath, suddenly feeling more exposed than he did getting undressed. “When I saw you just...lying there, I thought I’d lost you. I thought I was too late.”

Part of him doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that feeling, the pure terror that had filled his lungs like ice water when he’d found Callum lying there like that, lifeless and unresponsive.

Callum lifts his head off of Ben’s belly and leans back, putting some space between them so that he can look up and see his face. The vulnerability he finds written across Ben’s expression is something that still takes him back whenever he sees it, so rare and private that he almost feels honoured to witness it, to be allowed to see a part of him that so few others ever did.

“You weren’t though. You saved me, Ben.” He runs his hands up the dip of the other man’s spine. Ben sighs at the touch, his fingers tightening in the hair at the crown of Callum’s head. “I knew you would.”

“You did?” Ben’s voice is quiet, almost unsure, as though he can’t decide whether to believe him or not.

“‘Course,” he tells him, tone confident. He had doubted a lot of things while Keanu had him locked up; whether his kidnapper was desperate enough to deliver on his threats, whether he’d ever see anyone he loved again, whether he’d even live to see another day. But, the one thing he’d never doubted was Ben. Never. “I was terrified, obviously, I’d be an idiot not to be. But I never thought you weren’t doing everything you could to save me, not for a minute.”

Ben appears surprised by the admission. People lacking belief in him, expecting him to disappoint, is something he’s become accustomed to over his lifetime. The idea that Callum’s faith in him had never wavered, is a concept that is foreign to him.

Callum’s blind trust in him, his undoctored honesty, makes Ben, in turn, want to tell him the truth. He slides his hands round the back of Callum’s neck and to his jaw, ensuring the other man’s gaze stays focused on him.

“I would’ve done anything to get you back. You know that, don’t ya?”

He thinks that might be one of the most truthful things he’s ever said to Callum, despite the weight of the statement. Ben considers the lengths he was willing to go to in his desperation, the lengths he _did_ go to. Truthfully, he doesn’t think a line exists that he wouldn’t have overstepped to get him back.

“I know.” There’s no traces of doubt in Callum’s tone.

Ben draws in a breath. Suddenly, it feels as though something is stuck in his throat, choking him, overwhelming him, trying to claw its way out.

“I mean it, Cal; _anything_.” His eyes are serious, desperate, when they look into Callum’s. He needs him to know that he means this. “Because, I love you. Like, proper love you. So much I don’t even know what to do with it sometimes.”

And, there it is. Between them, around them, hanging in the air.

Callum’s expression softens at the revelation, and he lets out a gasp of air as though he’s been holding his breath. He thinks maybe he has been, ever since that night in the kitchen before Christmas, where he’d held Ben’s face in his hands and confessed everything he felt about him, only to be met with rejection.

Now, it’s as if he can breathe again.

“Yeah?” He sounds disbelieving even to his own ears.

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause I love you too.” He can’t contain the grin that breaks out over his face, uncaring of the pain that stings his split lip. Ben is staring down at him as if in a state of shock, eyes wide, like he can’t believe his own ears despite having heard the statement before. “But, you already know that.”

Ben leans down, pressing his forehead against Callum’s, their noses brushing. Callum relishes the feeling of Ben’s presence, wrapped around him. He lets his eyes flutter close.

“Say it again. Please.” Ben’s voice is almost childlike, begging, when he asks.

“I love you, Ben Mitchell. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” The statement feels bigger now, something more than it was both times before. There’s comfort in the knowledge that his feelings are returned, in the confidence that Ben feels the same.

He hears the other man’s intake, feels the tip of his nose brush against his own. If he feels the wet track of Ben’s tears on his own cheek then he doesn’t mention it.

He doesn’t anticipate Ben moving to close the gap between them and capturing his mouth with his own, but he responds eagerly, despite the metallic taste of blood thick on his tongue. He thinks that maybe, sat in that bathroom, Ben stood between his legs, engulfing him and murmuring those three precious words against his lips over and over and over, like a promise, is the most at home he’s ever felt.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i haven't written anything for these two in forever, or at least finished any of the fics i started for them, but i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!!
> 
> ps. i started writing this before the end of boat week aired which is why i didn't include the plot point of ben's deafness
> 
> feel free to come and chat to me @benscallum on twitter or @rubyallens on tumblr :)


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